


Be My Graveyard Baby

by kaijuvenom



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Funeral Home Setting, Alternate Universe - Human, Crowley is a hopeless flirt, First Kiss, Florist Aziraphale, Getting Together, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, because its literally a funeral home, but thats it for the death mentions, crowley talks vaguely about how someone died.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26353801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuvenom/pseuds/kaijuvenom
Summary: Anathema's (only) employee and personal friend, mortician Anthony J. Crowley, has a shameless crush on the on-call florist she sometimes hire for funeral services. Said on-call florist has been oblivious for years, and Crowley really has no idea how much more obvious he can get at this point.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 127





	Be My Graveyard Baby

Anathema was shaking her head, which usually meant Crowley was committing a fireable offense, but he’d be the first to point out that Aziraphale didn’t _technically_ work for her, so he couldn’t get reported to HR. There was also no HR department at Anathema’s funeral home, but that was hardly the point. 

The point was the Crowley was getting that trademarked look of resigned disappointment, and he had yet to discern if it was because he was leaning casually against a casket which currently housed a dead body, because he was flirting with the florist, or because he was leaning against a casket housing a dead body _while_ flirting with the florist. 

“I always mean to ask every time I come up here,” Aziraphale said, either blatantly ignoring Crowley’s attempts at flirting or completely oblivious to it, “did you come up with the name?” He was addressing Anathema, who nodded in response.

“ _Return to Eden_. It’s a very lovely name. I’ve always liked it.”

“She let me design the logo,” Crowley interjected, feeling unincluded in the conversation. He didn’t know why he thought Aziraphale would be impressed with that, the logo depicted an apple tree with a snake curling around its trunk. Crowley had thought it was funny at the time.

He still thought it was funny. 

Aziraphale, on the other hand, did not find it funny. In fact, he chose not even to answer. Anathema was shaking her head again.

“How did he pass away?” Aziraphale asked, changing the subject as he waved his hand at Crowley to get him to move off the casket.

Crowley watched him arrange lilies and white limoniums around the body’s head. “Got gutted by a chainsaw,” he said, and despite Anathema’s fervent shaking of her head, he continued to talk. “Have you ever seen someone who’s had their guts ripped out?”

There was a rather long silence before Aziraphale turned to face him, a look of offense (probably on behalf of the dead body) and disgust on his face. “I can’t say that I have.” 

“Real _Last House on the Left._ It was a mess putting him back together again. The chainsaw sliced open his-”

Thankfully, they were all saved from a graphic description of what exactly Crowley had to do to the poor dead man, by the front door bell chiming, and Anathema was the first up, practically running to the door.

Crowely opened his mouth to continue describing the chainsaw gutting, but Aziraphale held up his hand. “Please dear, forget I asked.”

He finished placing the flowers in the casket and made a small _tut_ sound, brushing the man’s hair back into place. “I seem to have smudged his makeup a bit, my apologies.” 

Crowley shrugged, stepping over to look. The foundation he’d packed on to give his skin a human color was smudged off. “It’s fine, I’ll get my bag.” He paused on the way out of the parlor, glancing back at Aziraphale. “Come with me?” He asked, for no reason other than to give himself more time to flirt with him.

Aziraphale hesitated, glancing at his floral arrangements and looking away again. He was done decorating for the funeral service, he should probably be heading back down the hill to his shop in town, but he didn’t. He followed Crowley out of the parlor and down the back hall, into the service elevator to the basement. Crowley was going to count that as a win (he didn’t get many when it came to Aziraphale, he’d have to take what he could get). 

The lights in the basement flickered for a second before turning on fully, and Crowley noticed Aziraphale shiver, whether from the cold of the basement or the stupidly creepy lighting, he wasn’t sure. 

“You work down here?” Aziraphale asked, glancing around. It wasn’t a big space, in fact, it was more like a hallway, one door on each side of the wall. Crowley pulled out his keys and unlocked the door to his office, which also doubled as the embalming room and body storage. 

Crowley hummed in response, leaving the door open as he stepped inside, trying to locate his makeup bags in the mess that was his office.

“What’s in the other room?” Aziraphale asked, standing in the doorway awkwardly.

“Crematorium.” 

“Oh.” 

“You can come in, you know,” Crowley said, glancing behind at Aziraphale, who was still hesitating at the doorway. 

He pointedly looked over at the refrigeration units for the bodies. “Are there…” he began, trailing off as Crowley chuckled.

“Yes. Two right now. But I’ve already made sure they aren’t zombies.” 

Aziraphale was still hesitant, shifting on his feet and glancing from Crowley to the body fridges and back again.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. Living people are more dangerous than the dead ones. Especially grieving living people, _especially_ grieving living people who think you’ve gotten their dearly departed’s lip color wrong.”

The corner of Aziraphale’s lips twitched up into the hint of a smile. “I suppose you’re right about that.” 

He was still avoiding the wall with the body fridges, but at least he came in. “Is this where you… embalm them?” He asked, gesturing to the autopsy table in the middle of the room. 

“And where I do the makeup, reconstruct the bodies.” 

“Do you normally let people down here?”

“No. Unless we need someone to ID a body, but that’s rare. Anathema lets me…” he trailed off, waving his hand vaguely to symbolize _Anathema lets me fuck around down here and blast rock music as loud as I want as long as I get the work done._

“Why was I given the… special privilege…” he said this as if he didn’t _really_ believe it was a very special privilege and would in fact rather be literally anywhere else in the world right then, “of being allowed in your, very poorly organized, if you don’t mind my saying, office… area?” 

“Because it gives me more time alone with you,” Crowley responded easily, winking at him as he made his way back out of his office and into the hallway. 

He paused when Aziraphale didn’t seem to be following, and found him frozen, standing in the exact same place he had been before, his mouth slightly open. 

“Aziraphale?” He asked, tilting his head.

Aziraphale shook his head a little, looking at Crowley with an expression that could only be described as unbridled curiosity. “Are you flirting with me, my dear?” 

The addition of _my dear_ to that statement had been absolutely unnecessary, and Crowley briefly wondered if Aziraphale had been flirting with him this whole time, and had known exactly what he was doing. 

It wouldn’t surprise him, to be honest, in the several years Crowley had known him, Aziraphale had proven to be quite capable of being sneaky and covert whenever it was least expected of him.

Still, it was a damned long time to be playing the long game. Crowley couldn’t exactly remember when it was they’d first met, but he’d most certainly flirted with Aziraphale, so could he really have known all that time?

He doubted it. He was probably as oblivious and/or naive as Crowley had always suspected.

It was then that he belatedly realized he’d been asked a question. “Ah, yes. Yes, in fact, I am.” _Have been for a long ass time, actually, but thanks for noticing_ , he added in his head as he stepped back over to where Aziraphale was still standing. 

Aziraphale nodded, as if Crowley had just confirmed all his suspicions or something. “Do you flirt with everyone?”

Crowley opened his mouth and then closed it again, squinting up at the ceiling. Maybe if he didn’t wear sunglasses in doors, he wouldn’t have to squint at things to see them, but that was neither here nor there. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, because yes, he did tend to flirt more than the average person (he even flirted with Anathema, despite them both leaning fully on opposite sides of the sexuality spectrum), but he didn’t flirt with _anyone._

“No,” he finally decided on, wondering if that was the right answer. 

“So I suppose that makes me special?”

Crowley leaned forward, stepping further into Aziraphale’s personal space than he ever had been before. “Well, now it seems like you’re fishing for compliments, angel.” 

“Perhaps I am.” 

Crowley kissed him, in a very bold move if he did say so himself, and Aziraphale kissed him back, which, if you have ever kissed someone before, you would know that that is the goal one strives for when kissing someone.

But then he pulled back all too soon, looking more than a little uncomfortable, and all of Crowley’s uncharacteristically butterfly-in-stomach feelings immediately turned into the feelings of there-is-an-anchor-in-my-stomach-and-it-is-sinking feelings.

“We can’t do this,” Aziraphale said, and upon Crowley’s look of absolute heartbreak, quickly worked to amend himself, “I mean here, Crowley. It isn’t right. Not when there are…” he gestured at the body storage units, swallowing uncomfortably. 

“You’re so squeamish,” Crowley said, as if he hadn’t watched the way Aziraphale acted around dead bodies for years. “We could go to the crematorium,” he offered, as if that was better.

“Is anyone being…” again, Aziraphale gestured vaguely to get his point across.

Crowley squinted, trying to remember. “Not sure, I’d have to check while we’re in there.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was another prompt from [my tumblr](https://kaijuvenom.tumblr.com/) and prompts are still open (on my pinned post)  
> also here's my [twitter.](https://twitter.com/kaijuvenom)  
> 


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